


Brilliant, Blinding

by WoozySloth



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: ...ish, Character Death, Drabble Collection, Dragon Ball Minus, Gen, Implied Relationships, Movie: Bardock Father of Goku, Non-Chronological, Out of Character, POV Multiple, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-08-01 14:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoozySloth/pseuds/WoozySloth
Summary: Bardock is different.





	1. Chapter 1

"Sir! We've been ordered to retreat - all Saiyans are to return to Planet Vegeta immediately!"

Bardock acknowledges the order. He's careful to show at least some surprise, to grumble.

"All Saiyans? What for?"

A total lack of suspicion would, in itself, be suspicious.

This Bardock knows well.

* * *

 

"What are you doing?"

The doctor blinks, sort of - Bardock notes how the eyelids move from the sides, but thinks to himself that the blinking is probably still a sign of surprise.

 _Nictitating_ _membrane_ \- Bardock will learn this later.

"I am - applying healing salve."

"Why not put me in a tank?"

"The machines are occupied at the moment I'm afraid."

"What happened?"

The doctor is not perturbed exactly, but he (or she, Bardock isn't sure how you tell these things with reptiles) is seemingly baffled by Bardock's questions. 

Not the questions themselves. 

Not even, really, that Bardock is asking them.

That a  _Saiyan_ is asking them.

A curious Saiyan is a curiousity, if it's curiousity about anything other than fighting or food.

This Bardock learns well.

* * *

They're killing their attackers - well, technically Bardock and Toma are the attackers here - on the way out, cutting through the natives like they're hardly even there.

Bardock wishes they'd been sent to a more challenging planet.

He doesn't want to die here.

He spots Toma ahead, closer to the ship than he is. Toma's a good soldier, capable and strong. Loyal, too. He's saved Bardock's life on more than one occasion through their long career together.

Bardock isn't particularly good, he thinks, at commanding others. Bardock does his own thing on missions. Command hasn't changed that.

So he doesn't really know how he inspired the loyalty that he knows Toma has towards him, as embarassed as the other Saiyan would be to admit it, but he's been glad of it several times.

Still, he knows he's made his decision when he throws his scouter into an errant beam, careful not to let it see him. When he creates a blinding, burning orb of energy in his hand and detonates. It looks more impressive than it is, to be honest - it's a technique he made to produce a lot of noise and light, somewhat inspired by the fake moon he's seen (briefly, due to several factors) the Elites use. There's a second layer to it, a quirk of it that causes light to follow sound rather than the natural way, so that when Toma turns around at the noise he's hit in the face by an agonisingly bright corona.

Toma's no rookie - he sends a wide swathe of energy towards the source of the light, but by then Bardock is already behind him, has already smashed his scouter against the side of his head, so hard he loses focus and starts to fall.

Bardock catches him, as he's caught him before.

* * *

 

They start to call him - the word doesn't translate exactly, not to many languages. It's basically a shortened form of the word they use for incubators.

If it were to be used on Earth, it would work out to something like 'Mom'.

Saiyans get hit.

Saiyans get hit a  _a lot._

In fact, despite being stronger and faster than the vast majority of species, Saiyans as a people take more hits than basically the entirety of the rest of the universe.

Often enough, the hits do nothing. Even when they get hurt, the pain threshold of the average Saiyan is ridiculous inside combat (outside of combat, many of them are giant babies). It even tends towards a sort of inverse - pain in battle causes a Saiyan to sharpen, to focus up.

But still, the sheer volume of missions means that almost every Saiyan will face several points where they get hit hard enough to shake even their preternatural control of their own power.

So lots of Saiyans will fall to planets from a great height, a great many times.

Unless they're on Bardock's team.

A Saiyan on Bardock's team - this is an unusual phenomenon in of itself, that any team which Bardock is  _on_ becomes 'Bardock's Team' - will be falling through the air for quite a while before they realise they haven't hit dirt. It's a mark of Saiyan society that all but one of them immediately breaks out of Bardock's grip to try and kill him, no matter how many times it happens.

They're confused, rather than grateful, on the whole. Some of them are even offended.

Bardock knows it marks him as unusual. He doesn't particularly care.

He grabs falling Saiyans. 

He carries unconscious ones back to the ship.

On more than one occasion, Bardock is between an attack and the Saiyan it was meant for.

They mock him. They scorn him.

He makes them uncomfortable.

Good.

(One of them marries him. He ultimately decides this is also good.)

* * *

 

Bardock snaps Toma's neck with his eyes closed. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jaco was grumbling. This wasn't an unusual event by any measure of such things - one of those measures being the running bingo-style game of "What is Jaco grumbling about  _now?_ " that senior members of the Galactic Patrol had created to replace "How will Jaco mess up  _this_ mission?" - the latter being too unpredictable to be all that playable.

What was unusual was that someone was listening, at least in part.

Jaco was so unused to anyone actually listening to his complaints that he tended to air them as if there was no one around. Hence, complaints he probably shouldn't have been airing in front of this particular prisoner.

"Earthling?"

Jaco jumped straight into the ceiling.

He was also unused to this prisoner actually  _talking._ It was a fairly crucial factor in his - and the Galactic Patrol at large - overcoming what was otherwise an intense and primal fear.

Jaco slowly, slowly returned himself to the floor.

"I, uh -"

"You were talking about 'irritating Earthlings'."

Jaco wasn't terribly good at reading the strange expressions of this species (or that of any species) but he couldn't pick anything up from face or voice. Interest, maybe?

"Uh, yes. From Earth."

A pause.

"I gathered. Do you head to Earth often?"

Jaco shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, no. Just the once, uh, really. I shouldn't -"

"What were you doing there?"

He definitely,  _definitely_ couldn't tell the prisoner that. But he was also somewhat terrified. So a convincing lie would have to do it.

"Oh, just...scouting around. For...crime."

"I was under the impression they hadn't gone very far beyond their planet."

"Well, there was..."

_Think, think, think!_

"Time travel!"

"Oh?"

"This old human was studying time travel, so I had to go and - well, you know, don't you?" Jaco laughed nervously.

"Kill him? Yes, I suppose I would know."

Oh. Oh that was uncomfortable.

"So...no invaders? Intergalactic criminals hiding out?"

"Oh, no! No, Earth is as dull as, well, it is named after dirt, you know. Suppose the locals knew what they were -"

"No Saiyans?"

Jaco didn't make any sounds that could really be described as 'language', but if transcribed would be something like:

"Hrrt-zzzt-gack! Gah!"

"Saiyans, then."

"One! I mean, none! None Saiya - No sir, Saiyans, er, no Saiyans, sir!"

"One Saiyan. Did you kill him?"

 The prisoner stood up, and Jaco immediately, shamefully let loose a torrent of fluid from the sides of his head.

"No!"

"Another failed mission, Jaco?"

_'It knows my name!'_ was, somewhat unwisely, immediately overshadowed by  _'Another mission? Jerk!'_

 "No! I mean, I -"

"Ah," and here the prisoner nodded like he'd solved a puzzle.

He had.

"You were sent to kill my son."

_What?_

"It's fortunate for you that you failed. But you didn't tell the Patrol you failed, did you?"

"I don't - I, I."

The Saiyan's black irises drilled into him.

"I don't know if he showed up or not."

"He did."

"How-"

"My wife made sure of it."

"Saiyans have wives?"

The Saiyan snorted, the closest he'd come to really expressing an emotion that registered as something other than 'polite interest'.

"No."

Jaco didn't know what to say to that.

"You're still in contact with Earth - something else you shouldn't be doing - one of their people has been nagging you to take them to another planet."

Jaco didn't know what to say to _any_ of this.

"You'll take her. You'll talk to her. You may even take a few holidays on this lovely backwater."

"I - You can't, I can't..."

Jaco didn't have time to find out what he was going to say - the Saiyan merely talked over him.

"I don't feel inclined to blackmail or threaten you - you are already aware that I hold enough knowledge of your indiscretions to inconvenience you, and I enough power to destroy...everyone, give or take. I am here of my own will."

Jaco...nodded.

"Find my son. Watch him. Keep me informed."

The Saiyan sat down on his cot.

"I'm going to take a nap now. Try and keep it down."

Jaco nodded. Then, hesitantly -

"Uh, could you not mention my...accident?"

Another snort.

"Sure thing, Jaco."

The Saiyan laid down, head resting in his hands, as if he hadn't a care in the galaxy.

 

 


	3. Pail of Milk

The people of Training Island had rather enjoyed the last few years of activity from the Turtle School -  for despite their island's name, they had seen rather few students of the eccentric Turtle Hermit. 

Which, when your entire island is named after and devoted to training said students, can be a bit of a bummer.

(Master Roshi's founding and naming of this community was not the strangest thing he had done in his 300 plus years of life, but it was certainly up there.)

After all, the Turtle School trainees helped out in all sorts of ways - milk runs, farming, construction work, distracting the more vicious sea animals while you were trying to fish - and they were all such  _nice_ boys.

This last part was something of a running theme, for despite his own...proclivities, the Turtle Hermit seemingly attracted a rather wholesome crowd to his doors. Strange, yes, but on the whole rather sweet - even that rather fearsome looking giant boy from way back.

This recent crowd had really been rather nice, even as they underwent all sorts of backbreaking labour for their teacher.

Even that older,rogueish looking boy was actually a rather shy, retiring sort. It was a wonder he did any sort of martial arts at all, really. Maybe it was that pushy girlfriend of his, the villagers whispered.

So, despite their various oddities - boys with tails, serious premature baldness, questionable social skills all around -  it was really only the very newest, very oldest one that truly stood out.

At first, they'd thought the monkey boy had experienced a rather extreme growth spurt during his time away. After all, plenty of people could conceivably have tails, but who else had hair that ridiculous?

But then there were the scars, of course. The one on the side of his face was the most obvious one, but there were fainter (though not necessarily smaller) ones all over his body - which wouldn't be so noticeable, the villagers whispered with more than a touch of scandal, if this man were not seemingly so disdainful of anything that constituted more than half a shirt.

(In truth, he wore a gi and a turtle shell like other students, but it was a quirk of this particular student that any shirt he wore seemed like it was always on the verge of being torn off in battle - a scientific phenomena which particularly affected his people, and that would attract curious students for years to come.)

Then there was just a sort of...hardness to him. Not just the rather obvious muscles ('bulging', some would say, with much dabbing of foreheads and cleaning of glasses), but the set of his face, as relaxed as it often was, didn't have that same openness as his miniature counterpart. The face, although almost identical (if older, scarred) seemed altogether more suited to smirking, not smiling. Even the hair seemed to stand up just that bit more, seemed somehow wilder.

No, they agreed, this 'Burdock' or 'Bardock' or whatever was a different breed altogether.

What  _was_ the Turtle Hermit thinking?

* * *

"What is he  _thinking_ _?"  
_

Yamcha looked a little further down the beach, at the subject of their conversation.

"Dunno," he said, shrugging. "He's kinda hard to read, really."

"Exactly!"

Yamcha had gotten to know Krillin a little better since they had started training together. In his opinion, the kid was pretty excitable for someone who'd once been a monk.

Case in point, his suspicion of their fellow student. Which, okay, the guy did seem pretty shady on first impression. Yamcha might have even, perhaps, been a tiny bit intimidated by this jacked, battle-scarred, grown-up Goku-alike when he just...appeared one day.

But since then, the guy had been nothing but chill. He trained with them, ate with them - he was _definitely_ related to Goku, and seemingly spent most of his non-training, non-eating time either napping or doing something nap-adjacent. The only slightly strange thing was how little he actually talked to them. He wasn't rude, not really, but he never said anything particularly unnecessary. There was also the feeling, if not near-certainty, that he was holding back in his training as well. Having lagged just slightly behind them on the first day, he'd proceeded to undertake the rest of his training at exactly their pace, always just slightly behind.

(Distantly, there was a part of Yamcha, the part that had lived in the desert, that had scavenged and stolen, that was screaming at him to run very, very far away.)

So whatever the little guy was worked up about, Yamcha really wasn't seeing it.

He perked up a little as the door to the Capsule house down the beach opened - refusing to either let her boyfriend to abandon her for another long-as-it-takes training retreat, or (sensibly) to share a house with his Master, Bulma had opted to put down a house nearby and nab an extended beach holiday.

He smiled - whatever their problems, there wasn't much better than seeing her coming out to relax on the beach with her loving - 

Bulma detoured slightly, greeting Bardock on her way over to her loyal and protective boyfriend.

Bardock lazily opened one eye and mumbled something round that everpresent blade of grass. Whatever it made Bulma...giggle.

It must have been pretty funny. She was giggling a lot.

Still giggling.

That was...Bardock hadn't really struck him as a comedian... 

All of Yamcha's senses seemed to snap into razor sharp focus.

_What was this guy playing at?_

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've JUST added the correct fandom, because I too was dropped by my martial arts master grandpa at a young age.  
> I'm trying to make longer chapters, but honestly I stall at these drabble-sized ones, so I might just post in shorter chunks.


	4. Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scrawny kid fiddles with enemy jewellery.

There was no point in getting attached. The Tsufurans were weak, yes, but they also kept filling their physically superior enemies full of burning holes on a fairly regular basis, enough so that a proper introduction to basically anyone else in your battalion/wing/whatever-they-were-calling-themselves-when-they-wanted-to-sound-like-part-of-an-army seemed like an immense waste of time.

That was why he was Scarface - that, and the lack of imagination that characterised quite a few of the Third Class Saiyans.

So, he didn't know what the kid's name was. If there had been any sort of equivalent creature on Planet Plant, the kid would have been something along the lines of Magpie, if they were feeling kind (they rarely did - it would have been Vulture, or Hyena).

The kid was Scavenger, or Looter, or Body-Botherer, depending on how annoying he was being.

He didn't even take anything useful - he was still small enough that some of the enemy's bigger armour might fit him, but no, Scavenger's favourite target was the chunky jewellery that most Tsufurans wore for whatever reason.

This strange attachment had been the subject of much mockery, although the mockery had mostly stayed verbal - destroying the things made for little entertainment, as Scavenger wouldn't react in any satisfying way.

That was another thing - the kid was perfectly... _competent_ in a fight. He'd gotten through battles that had taken older, supposedly stronger Saiyans. But he never, never  _started_ anything. Never reacted until the first punch was thrown, and even then it took a while for him to get going, enough for most to get bored with him, to leave for better sport. What kind of Saiyan was that?

He didn't even look afraid when they came at him, just...bored.

Scavenger looked bored quite a lot. The Saiyan race had not really invented a word for 'relaxation' as most would understand it - their closest equivalent still carried connotations of a light after-dinner spar - but Scavenger had mastered it already. The only thing that really seemed to interest him was the jewellery.

Scarface had watched him, once. Watched the kid watching the glass. Intent, focused in a way he rarely was, looking at the lights flash across the screen.

The kid had done this for what seemed like hours. He'd press buttons, tense in an odd way, watch the lights, repeat.

Press, tense, lights, repeat.

Press, tense, lights, repeat.

Scarface had looked away, loudly proclaiming to the camp that clarely they had taken one of the enemy with them by mistake, surely this wasn't a _real_ Saiyan he was seeing?

He didn't talk much after that though. Something about the whole thing had made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't explain. He smashed the toy with particular relish later.

Didn't take the kid long to find another one - they'd gotten ambushed, as they were wont to do. Damn things always seemed to be able to find them, wherever they made camp.

Here was the damnedest thing though - the kid hadn't been on watch. Well, none of them really 'did' watch. They got the concept, but arguments over who was on first inevitably led to a brawl breaking out, so they just slept when they felt like it, mostly at the same time.

So they had all been sleeping, when the kid had kicked him and Shorty awake. They'd nearly taken his head off before they took a breath - the smell of strange chemicals and wiring on the air.

The Tsufurans had expected to find them sleeping, and instead they were surrounded, slaughtered, and turned into a rather appetising breakfast.

So the camp as a whole had a lot of goodwill towards their youngest member (they thought he was, anyway. No one kept track of these things.) when he asked ( _asked!_ ) if someone could put on one of his new 'treasures'.

Scarface still wasn't touching one of the things, but he could volunteer his partner. Shorty would grumble about it, sure, but he couldn't deny they all owed the kid one, and it'd be good for a laugh.

So there Shorty was, with this ridiculous thing on his face, and there the kid was opposite him, standing like he was ready for a fight for once.

The kid told him he had to press the button every time he 'changed'. What this really meant was that Scavenger would strike a few poses, one moment relaxed, the next moment looking ready to rip someone's face off. The whole camp was in stitches. Even Shorty had a smile on his face, being part of this strange pantomime.

But there was...something. Every time the kid tensed up, Scarface would tense up. Like seeing Scavenger getting ready for a fight was putting him in the mind of one.

Strangest damn thing.

The lights, too. Shorty was smiling, but as the whole thing wore on, he started to look confused.

"What's happening?" The kid's voice was so high it was comical, but there was a strange edge to it.

"The lights are changing. Whenever you change, they change..." Shorty took a moment, then ripped the glass off of his face and threw it away. "What kind of dumbass invention is this?"

That was the end of their camraderie for the night - or at least, with Scavenger. They spent the rest of the night roundly mocking the enemies that were filling their bellies.

Scavenger looked satisfied. He didn't join in the 'festivities'. He picked a blade of grass to chew on while he lay back and looked up.

Scarface looked up too, wondering what the kid saw. He looked and looked, but...

"What are you looking at?" He'd surprised himself by asking. "Brat," he added, just because.

The kid looked at him, then looked at the sky, then looked back at him. Gave his answer.

Scarface snorted.

"Freak," and that was the end of that.

Damn kid and his lights.

What reason was there to look at the stars?

 


	5. Under Your Shell Kai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamcha knows he can lose sight of the important things.  
> But not questioning this man who dropped out of the sky looking like the post-apocalyptic edition of one of his best friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to repost this one with a bit more meat on it - longer and with debatably necessary detail, in the spirit of Dragon Ball Kai (that's right, right?)

Once he sees it, he can't  _stop_ seeing it. Or rather...

It wasn't like he hadn't, physically, seen it with his eyes. Noticed it with some distant part of his brain. Yamcha wouldn't ever claim to be the kind of super-genius his girlfriend is, but he'd have to have been truly, truly stupid to miss all - you couldn't even call them signs, really. That would be like saying the tide licking at your feet was all that told you the ocean was there.

But he hadn't cared.

Bardock's resemblance to Goku was obvious, when he thought about it - they both had tails, ridiculous black hair in near identical style (were hairstyles genetic?) and basically the same facial structure, if you looked past the scars and lazy disinterest.

Strength that was inhuman even by the loose standards the martial arts community imposed on 'human' strength.

That appetite, too. Bardock was putting a dent in the local aquatic population even as he went back for seconds and thirds at every meal.

Bardock's lack of effort when undergoing the most intense training in the world was also obvious, so much so that Yamcha couldn't even use the excuse that he had been focusing on not dying of exhaustion at the time. He stayed at their pace, never gaining nor trailing behind, and wasn't even slightly out of breath by the time they had finished.

If he thought about it, had Bardock been jogging in place while they panted desperately at the midway point of a mountain?

But none of this had 'clicked'. He'd noted it, taken the information in and then never questioned any of it.

How was that possible?

"There's something wrong with," how was it difficult to even remember the guy's name? "Bardock. Uh, about him. He's not right."

 "I told you," Krillin said with that curious combo of smugness and irritation he could do so well.

"But even that - I just went on with my day while you were shouting in my ear about how this guy is bad news. I'm looking back, and I saw he was strange, but I didn't  _notice_ it. What is that?"

Krillin looked pensive. "Maybe he cast some kind of spell on you?"

Yamcha bit back a (somehow instinctive, despite his life) response of "That's ridiculous." Their Master's sister was a literal witch running a successful fortune-telling gig using the undead as muscle, and the only reason the world wasn't run by a tiny blue megalomaniac was that a 9-year-old shapeshifting pig had taken a pair of women's underwear from a giant wish-granting dragon.

 It was entirely believable that Goku's...evil uncle? Deadbeat dad? Morally complicated much older brother? Whatever their relation, it was entirely possible he was a diabolical sorcerer.

Hell, that might explain a lot about Goku, if that was his family.

"But what does he want? He's just," Yamcha struggled to find a word for their weirdly non-intrusive training partner, "he's just been hanging out."

"You know," both boys jumped into defensive stances at the lazy drawl coming from the roof.

There was Bardock, chilling by their bedroom window, stalk of grass in his mouth.

"You could just ask me."

* * *

 

"Sooo...you're really Goku's dad?" Yamcha didn't know why his friend was starting off with that one, but could admit to his own curiousity.

"Yup." Apparently there was no need to elaborate.

"Why'd you show up now?"

Bardock shrugged. "I found out where he was."

"So why are you  _here_?"

"Found out he trained here. Thought I'd check it out," another shrug of the shoulders to acknowledge that there was, in fact, a massive piece of turtle on his back, "it's interesting."

"But why aren't you going after Goku?" Krillin shouted. Yamcha couldn't blame him - sure, Goku could take care of himself, but his father didn't particularly seem to care.

"You said you found him. So when did you...lose him?"

"Eh. A while ago."

Both boys clenched their fists - they had no idea how strong this guy really was, or if he could really use magic, or what kind of martial arts he knew, if he even did.

They were beginning to care less and less.

"You two sure have a lot of questions. No  _good_ questions, so far, but -"

"How come I couldn't see you?" 

Bardock looked at Yamcha, then down at himself. He raised a hand and waved it in front of his eyes.

"You know what I mean. Are you - " here the former bandit gulped despite himself, "some kind of wizard?"

"Wizard?"

"Y'know," Yamcha looked at Krillin for help.

"Someone who can, um, do unnatural things." The younger boy helpfully supplied - though admittedly their definition of 'unattural' was probably a bit skewed.

Bardock looked thoughtful - "People have called me things like that before."

"So you  _were_ hiding from me!" It wasn't often Yamcha got to feel vindicated, or at least it seemed that way to him.

"Boy, I wasn't hiding from you. I like my own company."

"But why just me? Krillin knew," Yamcha stopped himself just sort of finishing that with 'you were up to something'.

Bardock grunted, scratching his chin. Despite themselves, both boys were thinking (uncharitably) about how strange it was to see what was essentially Goku's face in the process of thinking about what to say next.

"The islanders and Tights' sister notice me because of their physical attraction to me. My aura doesn't make much of a difference to them, they just care about my appearance. Your master notices me because he knows the same trick himself, and his bodyguard because she's crazy. Why the bald kid can see past my dampened energy could be put down to any one of those."

Both students froze.

Krillin seemed to be trying to decide whether it would be more embarassing to confirm or deny that he was shallow, physically attracted to his best friend's dad, crazy, or whether to claim he was as spiritually attuned as the most revered martial arts master in the world.

Yamcha, on the other hand...

"Physical attraction?"

* * *

"Um, Mister Master?"

"Hmm?" The Turtle Hermit was usually not to be interrupted during his 'calisthenics', but if there was one thing worth looking up from the television for, it his his beautiful young housekeeper - especially since that killjoy girl had insisted Launch move in with her. Also when she wasn't holding a gun and cursing him out. That was also nice.

"There's no sparring today, right?"

The Turtle Hermit took a second to process what was happening above his current eyeline, then frowned - he'd only recently introduced sparring into the training programme, and only then because one of his students was on his second go-round. He'd been sure to keep it strictly controlled, since trying to do a high-flying kick while wearing a hundred pounds of turtle shell was not exactly medically advisable.

"No, my dear."

"And there's  _never_ any sparring with Mister Bardock, right?"

Roshi abandoned his strict aerobics routine.

(He _did_ press record.)

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini-chapters seem to be the way for me, I'm afraid. Trying to write out the whole of this scenario just becomes a joyless timesink that kills all inspiration...do you ever wonder if Toriyama starts to feel that way, after 30 plus years of writing?  
> ...Probably not. Dude's another type of creature altogether.


	6. Interview With A WereMonkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, if you want to get inspiration...look, it works for true crime, why not sci-fi?

Jaco thought Earthlings were weird. This wasn't, as it turned out, a prejudice he was ever really going to shake, because every Earthling Jaco would ever interact with over his (rather surprisingly long) lifetime was going to be passing strange by any metric, even the admittedly skewed measure the Galactic Patrolman was operating off of.

But Tights, one of the first  Earthlings he'd ever encountered, had a special place in the Official Jaco Earthling Weirdness Metric.

Given that his first experience with her involved her taking on a near-suicidal publicity stunt for the sake of the money that, he would discover later, she in no way  _needed,_ this was understandable. 

Things were compounded by the fact that Tights was not 'just' incredibly weird. She was also formidable - an Earth word Jaco had decided meant  _incredibly loud and stubborn._

So, because there was no real protocol for it, and because she would  _not_ shut up otherwise, he took her on trips to other planets. Tights wants inspiration for her new novel? Bring her to a planet full of "freaky aliens - freakier than you, even!"

It was annoying, but - aside from that one time they'd somehow ended up on the wrong Namek - things tended to go pretty smoothly.

This, though. This was a bit much.

"I'm telling you, cross-genre pollination is just the thing I need right now!"

Jaco frowned.

"Human Girl," he said slowly, because he knew it annoyed after all these years, "I'm not going to let you pollinate the prisoner. Aside from being disgusting, that's a serious breach of -"

"Masked Man," Tights ground out, which was just mean. "I mean, that I need to write sci-fi with a twist. Science fiction  _with_ something else. Space fantasy. Space westerns! Or, as the next, breakthrough genre combo is going to be -"

Another weird thing about humans, or at least about Tights (also her sister, he would later find)  - was their ability to...what had Jiya called it? 'Jump the narrative' or something.

Basically, he could be talking to Tights in his spaceship one moment, telling her there was no way that he was following the crazy orders of some backwater primitive, and then suddenly - 

"Space True Crime!"

- they'd be in front of one of the most heavy duty Galactic Patrol prisons in existence.

* * *

 

"So, I need to meet someone really, really bad."

"Uh-huh."

"Because otherwise what's the point, right? So don't just show me someone who, I don't know...doodled on you while you were sleeping, or whatever."

"Of course not."

"Good."

"That's an instant death sentence."

Tights had known Jaco for a while, but she still hadn't figured whether or not he actually had a sense of humour.

"So, who's the big bad you're taking me to see?"

 "Mass-murdering space pirate. Also technically deserted the military - or breached his contract, I'm not sure how the Frieza Force sees it."

Tights blinked. "Huh. Cool."

Jaco made a sound she supposed was a snort, as they came to the end of a long hallway.

"Yes," he said as tapped his fingers in a pattern on seemingly another block of wall (could she get a scene in a book out of that? Maybe if she added a wand or an umbrella...)

The wall slid away to reveal Tights' next Big Thing.

She blinked once. Twice.

"So, are you  _sure_ I'm not allowed to pollinate him?"

* * *

The prisoner didn't particularly look like a man serving time for mass-murder. According to Jaco, he'd been cooped up in this cell for a few years now, but he seemed perfectly content in the tiny space.

(Also, it didn't seem to have hurt his muscle definition. Worth noting for...reasons.)

Which, speaking of.

"What's keeping him in there?" Perhaps unwisely, Tights walked up to the space where the wall had disappeared.

Jaco shrugged. "Science."

"Huh," perhaps even more unwisely, she poked her finger through the recently empty space- 

"Wait!"

-and found herself poking a very solid chest.

The guy wasn't all that tall, but he was still taller than she was, and seemed to fill a good deal more space than he physically took up.

She looked up into his cold, disinterested eyes. Eyes that looked almost human, but very clearly weren't. Eyes that were darker than any human eyes had a right to be.

Tights smiled.

"Heeey."

He stared at her for another moment, then let a small, cruel smile come onto his face.

The prisoner put one of his fingers, stretched it out - 

_Hssssss._

Tights watched, fascinated, as sparks flew from the point of contact the finger was making with...nothing.

"It only works for me. Makes a guy feel special."

Smoke was coming from his finger.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

He shrugged.

"Soooo...is it even really stopping you?"

The little smile became a full-on smirk.

"Ohohoho, you are _perfect_." Tights was smiling now too, "You're just a goldmine, aren't you? What's your name again?"

Her next novel looked down at where Tights had now splayed her fingers on his chest, and took in her utter lack of fear with something like satisfaction.

"Bardock."

 

* * *

 

"So, when did you first kill someone?"

Bardock looked at her with confusion.

"Probably before I can remember. My first planet was - " Here he looked up. "No, it would have been before then. A Tsufuran, probably."

"They're called Tuffles." Jaco interjected.

Bardock shrugged. "Same difference, really."

"What's a - Tsuruffle?"

"Species that was already on Plant Vegeta - then Planet Plant, when we arrived." 

"Okay," Tights jotted that down, "and who's 'we'?"

"The Saiyans. Our first planet was destroyed by Beerus." Jaco snorted, but Bardock took no notice. "So we came to Plant. The Tsufurans were already on the planet. Neither of us was good at sharing."

"So you killed them all?" Where had she heard 'Saiyan' before? Maybe Jaco had mentioned them once, but she hadn't thought them good story fodder.

"Yup."

As simple as that, huh? Bardock clearly didn't feel any particular way about taking part in - genocide? Xenocide?

Which was, frankly, great characterisation. 

"So what's 'Beerus'?"

Jaco had to butt in, of course. "It's a superstition. Like saying your planet was destroyed by not praying hard enough."

"I heard it was actually because we didn't serve Him a second dessert."

Jaco waved his hand at Bardock, as if to say ' _See? He's a crazy person.'_

"So Beerus is your god?"

"He's the God of Destruction. So yeah, guess so. Don't know any other gods."

"Cool, cool. We'll circle back to that." They would not - she wasn't getting any weird religious types coming after her. Referring to the hero of that Konatsian legend as a god instead of a 'wizard' had gotten her a lot of weird mail. "You were talking about killing on different planets before?"

"Sure. I used to kill planets all the time."

"Great. So if we -" Tights stopped. Something about the phrasing of that was off.

"Could you repeat that?"

 

* * *

 

"Whole planets."

"Yup." Jaco was staring straight ahead, as if they were going to get into a collision when their 'lane' was a tiny part of the endless vastness of space.

"Then they...sell them? Like evil real estate agents?" Tights thought about that for a bit. "Slightly eviler real estate agents."

"You know," Jaco sniffed. "I  _have_ told you about this before."

"Uh-huh."

"I told you he was a mass murderer."

"Sure, but it's like...scale. Also, it's you."

"Me?"

"It could have been like 'mass murderer, of ants' and I wouldn't have been surprised."

Jaco huffed.

"He seemed so normal about it, too. Like he was talking about, I dunno, his time working in the accounting department."

"The accounting department of the Planet Trade is terrifying."

"Okay, my point still stands. That last thing though..."

"Mm," and since when did Jaco bite his tongue on anything?

"You work for him?"

"No."

"Buuuut - "

* * *

"Okay, that's enough for a prelim. I'll see you later Mister Bardock."

"No you won't!" Jaco sputtered, horrified.

"Come on, one interview isn't enough. We have to reluctantly bond, I need to see his twisted humanity -"

"Saiyanity." Bardock drawled.

" -right, that, uncover his, y'know."

"I know what you want to uncover!"

"Ew, you don't know how that works!"

"I know humans are disgusting!"

"Like you can talk, ear-pee-man!"

"I'll see her again."

The room was silent. Jaco had been about to fire back, in their grand tradition of Tights eventually getting her way, but he had gone absolutely rigid at the tone of Bardock's voice.

It didn't even sound threatening. Just a statement of fact, as if Bardock could see the future, and this was an immutable, unchangeable event.

The Galactic Patrolman nodded, meekly. "Okay."

Tights watched as Jaco went to close the...wall.

"Oh, one more thing." Jaco stoppped midway at Bardock's voice.

"Tights," and here Bardock unfurled what she  _thought_ had been a weird fashion statement, waving it at her.

"You said I was an aurum mine. Is that still true?"

"Uh, well," Tights stammered, but she already knew the answer. Even this creepy-as-hell interaction was absolutely perfect. "Yeah?"

"Then I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other," a sentence she'd have liked coming out of that scarred-up face in almost any context.

"So if you see anyone on Earth with one of these," here he waved the tail again, and she found herself following it, hypnotized. "Let me know, yeah?"

"Um, sure."

"You too, Jaco."

Jaco just nodded, stiffly.

"Okay. Night guys."

 Just like that, he lay down for a nap.

* * *

"He's  _perfect._ "

Jaco's large eyes were perfect for sideways glances.

"What?"

"... _Earthlings."_

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jiya is another Galactic Patrolman who appears in 'Jiya' about four years before the Jaco manga came out, set in an unspecified time on Earth. I'm making it as some time before Jaco shows up. They bond over Earth weirdness.
> 
> The Konatsian Wizard is quite possibly the Guardians of Konats, which means he can also be referred as their God or Kami. He appears in 'Wrath of the Dragon', and has hella mystical artifacts, including the temporally confusing Brave Sword.
> 
> Tights, if you didn't know, is Bulma's sister, and apparently shares her predilection for being hella thirsty for scars and Saiyans.
> 
> You can find them both on the Dragon Ball wiki, or wherever else DB nerds hang.


	7. Turtle Flip, Monkey Spit, Gun Sneeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wait, what did I miss?

Like most things, it begins with a sneeze.

Launch is instantly on her guard, both because of her innate nature and because she tends to sneeze when the Turtle Pervert is about to try and...sniff her sandals, whatever it is this month.

She's aware of eyes on her, she's used to that feeling by now, but when she whips her shotgun around she finds herself facing the back of Roshi's head - an unusual view for Launch. She half expects it to be some sort of dummy he's set up so he can sneak up behind her (again), but he's tensing up in that familiar way he does when she's just sneezed, and there's - 

A man. Something like one, anyway.

Launch internally swears. Years of bank robberies, train robberies, police chases, gang wars, heists and shootouts have given her a pretty good idea of when someone is  _bad news._

Evil Future Badass Scars-and-Muscle Goku could not be more obviously a stone cold killer, and that's just from the way his eyebrow has raised in mild interest at both the gun pointed at him - she's long past sick of the people around her not having enough respect for firearms, but there's usually _something_ like fear - and her sneezing, an event that usually seems to give people a sort of aneurysm (one of life's mysteries).

The way this guy is just casually sitting down with the World's Oldest Pervert and (arguably) Finest Martial Arts Master, who never gives the time of day to anyone who is not either a buxom lady or Dangerous, seals the deal.

Launch does what comes naturally.

Step One:

"The hell are  _you_ looking at?"

Step Two:

"Launch, wai-"

She waits until the cocky looking so-and-so goes to answer, and then shoots him in the mouth.

* * *

 

"There's gotta be a laugh."

"Huh?"

Gine throws her hands up in exasperation. It's not exactly an uncommon gesture, even at this early point in their...association. It's not going to lessen any as time goes on.

"A laugh! Whenever you get shot by loads of enemies, and there's a huge cloud of dust, you always waste the opportunity."

Bardock raises an eyebrow.

"I don't make a habit of getting shot by loads of enemies. Not really good OpSec. But if I did, I'd use the dust as cover to-"

"Exactly! You're all," here Gine lowers her voice in a ridiculous (eerily accurate) impression, " **I'll disguise myself in this dirt, do my freaky power disappearing trick, and snap the closest equivalent to a neck of the strongest guy, before I work my way down the ranks in a series of carefully calculated steps.** **All without making a sound."**

"...and this is a problem."

"Well, it's got its charms, but you need more, y'know,  _drama._ "

"Drama," Bardock drawls - even more than usual somehow, though drawling is his natural mode of speech.

"Yeah -  **hahahahaHA!** "

"Why's it go up at the end?"

"Finish strong."

"Hnn. Makes sense."

It does not, but the answer pleases his...subordinate. Which, oddly, pleases him as well.

He hasn't quite figured out what is going on yet, but it can't be all bad. His comrades, superiors, and Saiyan society at large would disagree. Though Gine and he fall roughly into the same social strata - that is, the bottom one - they're an odd pairing all the same. Not least because they're both very, very odd in themselves, but...

Bardock is considered exceedingly strange, on the rare occasions when he is considered at all, but Gine is generally agreed to be some sort of mutant or alien infiltrator. It's part of the reason she's survived so long, despite her low battle power and curious attitudes towards child-rearing.

(Gine actually has a concept of child-rearing, which in a third-class is a trait that's appeared out of absolute thin air. Many other Saiyans have confused it for a predilection towards infant-centric cannibalism, the closest thing which makes sense to them.)

Gine's survival amongst a people all too willing to kill their own at the slightest hint of weakness has less to do with Bardock's protection than an outsider might think.

Because while Saiyans are by-and-large pretty ready to help their already low population get even lower, even they have enough self-preservation to know this universal rule:

Don't mess with crazy.

* * *

 Whatever Launch expected to happen, it was not for her shotgun to be split clean down the middle by this guy's dislodged tooth.

"HahahahaHA!"

The pleased, arrogant laughter, while not exactly encouraging, was at least somewhat more expected.

The Handsome Couch Psycho grinned, proudly displaying the bleeding gap his projectile had been fired from.

"I think I like you better than the other one."

Launch puts on a grin to match her new acquaintance, dumps the shotgun and reaches into her (disgustingly frilly) dress.

"Yeah? Then you're about to like me a whole lot MORE!"

For a few seconds, the air in Kame House is more lead than oxygen.

Then the stranger is in front of her, and her submachine guns are oh-so-much metal in the air.

Launch pulls a handgun out of nothing, and his hand is around her wrist, but that's fine, because her other hand - 

He squeezes.

Launch has been rarely been hurt before, but she's no wimp.

She  _drops her guns,_ that's how much this hurts.

Then his face does something funny, and suddenly the hand is not around her wrist but up in the air, the arm supporting it spasming wildly.

Of all the crap that has happened in the last hour, being saved by the Turtle Hermit has got to be the low point.

The master's hand is wrapped around the weird furry belt - no, of course it's a  _tail_ , because this guy and Goku are obviously part of some sort of secret bio-warrior clone project bull.

But while it definitely  _hurts_ the guy - 

\- for once, Roshi's nose is exploding into a fountain of blood because someone has hit him in the face, rather than a dirty magazine.

It's kind of satisfying see, even though it probably means they're royally boned.

Roshi slumps to the ground, unconscious, and while he may be (definitely is) a decrepit old pervert, he's also The World's Strongest Man, laid out in one elbow to the face.

Launch has thought before that a grown-up Goku would be slightly terrifying, in the way a very friendly giant dinosaur might be.

This guy is a twisted nightmare version of that idle imagining brought to life, managing to look cocky, bashful, and like he has a certain respect for the guy whose face he just split open.

"Huh. Guess I still need to work on that, huh?"

The guy flexes unwraps his tail from his waist and flexes it, like any limb you'd try to stretch out if it felt weird.

Also like she isn't even there.

Someone with more sense and less pride would maybe feel relieved by that.

"%&#&!"

Launch is pissed, a state which for her means she has a tommy gun, somehow.

It's gone, kicked (she thinks, he's too damn fast) out of her hands before her finger reaches the trigger.

"Those things are really noisy, you know?" he says, like he's chewing her out for smoking rather than pulling a firearm on him.

She grins, all clenched teeth and murder, and pulls out a knife.

"Huh," remarks Tall, Dark and Freakish.

"Better?" she asks, faux-sweet, and ignores the way her brain itches at her own voice in that tone.

"I can see why this old man keeps you around."

He doesn't mean it the way another person might say it, but it still pisses her off, so she-

Shatters her knife against his chest.

Damn it.

"The hell are you made of?"

He just grins, infuriatingly, completely unconscious of the one damn mark she's made on him - that missing tooth. At least there's that.

"I believe Mister Bardock was just getting round to telling me that."

He doesn't show it, but she can tell from his eyes that the Monster (Bardock?) is surprised, more than she is, to hear the Turtle Hermit sounding completely fine.

Roshi doesn't look too bad, either, when they turn to face him. He's casually reclining in a chair nobody saw him get into, nursing a bloody nose that doesn't look nearly as broken as it did two minutes ago, sounding mildly put out at having been knocked unconscious by a blow that could shatter a mountain.

Bardock whistles.

"You are  _full_ of surprises, huh?"

Roshi sniffs, dabbing at his nose.

"Stick around and you might see more of 'em kid."

At this, Bardock rears his head back and laughs again, and suddenly no one in the room is trying to kill anyone else.

It's bizarre. 

Life in and around Kame House has a tendency to be.

"You did make quite a mess though. Launch?"

Of all the -

"Hey, you can go fu-ah-ck-ah-"

It ends, like most things seemingly do, with pepper getting thrown in her face.

"AHHH-CHOO!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Only Launch is explicitly mentioned as being dressed. Make of that what you will.
> 
> 2\. What were Bardock and Roshi talking about before Launch sneezed? Aerobics routines.
> 
> 3\. I use all of Roshi's names, and some he doesn't have, because...because.
> 
> 4\. This originally had more fighting, but ran up against the fact that, while Bardock and Launch will absolutely get into fights that aren't necessary, the Turtle Hermit isn't going to go fight any damn space pirate without a good reason.
> 
> 5\. Bardock's character is wildly interpretive, as the various different versions of him in the franchise can attest. This is useful. Will that mean my version is inconsistent? Yes, but consistently so. 
> 
> 6\. Gine!


	8. Ships, Lies and Space Videotape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a non-routine recovery mission, Freeza Force Team Not-Ginyu 47 pick up a terrifying passenger.

_The Waldorf Salad_ had been one of the premier ships in the PTO something like a hundred years ago. Now, it was a beaten up relic, just exceptional enough to be sent on missions that were Not Quite Nothing, crewed by teams of the Basically Expendable.

Which was how this particular Saiyan Specialist had ended up here.

There were two Saiyan Specialists in the entirety of the Planet Trade Organisation, both struggling with the fact that their area of expertise had been rather dramatically reduced. Neither of them were exactly frontline types - though you didn't survive long in their field if you weren't somewhat able to handle yourself - but there was rather a lot of...clean-up to be done as of late. Which meant that  _one_ of the two had to be out there, whilst the other had the task of administering medical care to the young prince and his remaining underlings.

They had argued for some time about which assignment was more dangerous - visiting mostly destroyed planets to tend to cornered, desperate Saiyans...or being  _Vegeta's_ personal physician. Neither of them had been entirely sure which position they'd been arguing for.

Then they'd been made to flip a coin for it by their supervisor.

Classic PTO management.

Their mission: to boldly go where only third-class Saiyans had gone before, to see whether any of the unaccounted were still alive in the wake of Planet Vegeta's 'mysterious' destruction.

Joy.

* * *

Planet Meat was, of course, a desolate wasteland. Whether it had always been a desolate wasteland was another matter, but if there had been any inhabitants left alive when the Saiyans had been recalled, they'd starved or destroyed what remained of each other in an impressively short space of time.

Fortunately, the absence of any other life on the planet made finding even this startlingly weak Saiyan rather trivial.

Of course, the reason for his weakness...

"Holy crap, what happened to this guy?"

If there was one thing he hated more than having to be sent out onto these forsaken planets, it was that apparently he was supposed to compensate for the fools he'd been sent with.

The Saiyan had been severely damaged,  _obviously_  - were it not for the hardiness of their species and the advanced technology of the PTO, they would probably never walk again.

Even then, the Saiyan would probably not have survived were it not for -

"Is it - has he made a cocoon?"

...'save me' he thought, 'from the idiots in charge of curating the galaxy.'

* * *

The Saiyan had  _not_ made a cocoon, of course. 

Instead, a rudimentary one had been constructed for them out of armour, though this was not immediately obvious due to the way in which the armour had been reappropriated, the light armour used as bandages or to tie down the plates of heavy armour, which had been cut apart, most obviously to use as a neck brace.

This raised a few questions.

Obviously, the paralyzed Saiyan had not managed to do this to themselves - telekinesis was not one of their strong suits as a species, certainly not amongst the caste this specimen belonged to.

Had belonged to. Despite the Prince's and his bodyguard's assertions to the contrary, the destruction of most of their species had interesting implications for their hierarchical society - 

"Doc, could we focus up here?"

...the sub-sentient and the substandard, that's what he'd been given for these missions.

That did raise the question of who had tended, in this unorthodox way, to the damaged Saiyan.

Whatever squad he was with was also unaccounted for. But even if they had taken the time to provide triage, and that was so uncharasteristic of basically any Saiyan that it bordered on the ridiculous, why had they not shown up on the scans with their comrade? Had they perished after attending to him? 

"Guess so. They wrap this guy up, get into a scuffle with the locals, wipe each other out, leaves this monkey the lone survivor. Your lucky day, huh?"

"Don't  _slap_ him, you'll knock his neck out of place all over again. Besides, your theory makes -"

"Theory? It's what happened. Unless you want to stay on this rock to play Galactic Patrolman?"

Fool.

But he had a point. The sooner off this Beerus-damned place, the better.

* * *

 The first sign came as they broke atmosphere.

It was almost comical, really. Just as the  _Waldorf_ was gearing up to take proper spaceflight, free of planetary constraints, it shuddered and groaned as if were some ancient, landbound vehicle.

Naturally, the Captain wanted to interrogate the Engineer. Given that there was the distinct possibility of punitive mutilation or execution - never mind that there was only one engineer on board, this was the PTO - it was perhaps expected that the Engineer would try and hide.

Unwise, given that they were on a sealed vessel in space, but expected.

What nobody expected was there would be any significant difficulty in  _finding_ the Engineer. After all, there was plenty of surveillance, even if he had taken off his scouter.

Though where his scouter was, nobody could account for either.

Still, the Pilots were confident they could still get the Saiyan back to Freeza Planet 17, as expected. It would just take longer.

Significantly longer.

Joy.

Naturally, they needed to send a message out so as not to be summarily executed for lateness.

That _was_ the plan, of course, up till they discovered all their communications tech had stopped working.

* * *

The comms situation wouldn't have been so bad.

Easily fixed, even. Any half decent communications officer could boost a scouter to deliver the messages with little trouble.

Which was why, of course, their Communications Officer had disappeared too.

* * *

Nothing to worry about.

They would get there late. No getting around that.

They had no way to provide excuses ahead of time, but so what? Excuses hardly ever flew in the PTO whether they were early or not, so really their chances hadn't changed.

They would get there.

The Pilots would get them there.

The three Pilots.

The two Pilots.

The Pilot.

Then - 

* * *

 It was impossible, of course, but the Captain was eyeing up the Saiyan.

Never mind that the Saiyan was still basically paralysed at this early stage in the healing process - especially with their outdated tank.

Never mind that the Saiyan was also  _incredibly_ heavily sedated - even Lord Freeza would have felt a bit woozy, he'd wager (though never out loud) at the sheer amount of incapacitating chemicals floating in that tank.

Never mind that though, admittedly, their surveillance seemed to be quite...glitchy, the Saiyan was under constant supervision.

But there was little in the way of alternative explanation.

There was no explanation at all.

The Captain was beginning to get desperate.

He'd turn on the Saiyan, inevitably, as the culprit, or at least as an easy target.

It was inevitable.

Inevitable, at least, until the Captain vanished too.

* * *

It was him alone now.

He could keep the ship running, after a fashion, by himself. The rations were intended to accomadate the possibility of Saiyan passengers, so he could survive...indefinitely.

Really, there was only one thing to do: Monitor the Saiyan, as was his remit.

But this spirit would come for him too, he was sure of it.

He felt it.

Now, looking at his patient as they slept, suspended in the tank, he felt distinct envy, that the Saiyan would never know Death when it came for him.

A footstep.

He froze, suddenly knowing that something was behind him, even as his scouter remained silent.

There was a faint smacking sound coming from the...thing.

He closed his eyes. Would it end it, now?

...no. It must want him to face it.

So it was that the Medical Officer and Saiyan Specialist of  _The Waldorf Salad_ turned round to meet his destiny - 

\- and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"Of  _course_ it would be you."

* * *

 

Amongst the third-classes, there existed a sort of archetype. A look, if you will.

A Saiyan so common, so easily identifiable, you could show a picture of him to virtually anyone in the universe, and even the most backwoods, most uneducated, barely spaceworthy societies could say:

"Oh yes, a third-class Saiyan."

As well as having a look, these Saiyans could be also be said to have the archetypal 'third-class Saiyan' personality.

Shared traits, on an uncanny scale. Their own phenotype, or sub-species, or what have you.

Predictable. Stereotypical. The baseline Saiyan.

Except.

* * *

 

"A question,  _dearest_ Bardock."

"Mm."

"I can understand scuttling the ship. Killing the crew."

"Hungry."

"...quite. Even using your comrade-"

"Subordinate."

"-as bait. All quite - I can see where it's going, I think."

"Mm."

"But why -  _why,_  I ask _-_ are you still. Naked."

Bardock stopped chewing on the dried meat he'd stolen from their commissary. There was that blank look, and any other Saiyan would have asked why that was a problem, demonstrating nicely their species' complete lack of a nudity taboo. 

"Aren't you a doctor?"

Any other Saiyan. Even the Royals could be too dumb to snark, sometimes. But this one, oh, this one was another beast entirely.

"That's...fine. So, what now?"

Bardock took another bite. Chewed.

Chewed some more.

It was exceptionally hard, sometimes, not to smack this planet killing, logic defying Saiyan  _mutant._

 

"I was gonna ask you."

"Me?"

"What's the plan for Toma?"

"I...well, delivery to Freeza Planet 17, but I hardly think you plan for him to make it there, after all this."

"Is he supposed to make it there?"

This damn mutant.

There was little point in lying. He always got the distinct impression Bardock would know the truth anyway.

"Malfunction of the medical machine. Outdated tech, a leakage, nothing anyone could do about it."

Bardock nodded.

"Seems a lot of trouble, for a third-class."

"I believe Lord Freeza is taunting the young Prince. He thinks Vegeta will care."

Bardock looked at him.

"You think he won't?"

"Hardly."

"That's fair, probably. Oh well."

With that, Bardock propped his feet up on some particularly delicate medical equipment, and went back to eating.

So, that was that. Horror, panic, confusion, all leading up to an exchange he still couldn't see the motive for.

Bardock.

But he had to try, certainly. Get something.

"So...what now?"

"Who knows?"

"I certainly don't! I don't even know where in the blasted universe we are!"

"You don't?"

"No, because you _blew up our navigation_. The Navigator too!"

"Huh. Guess I did."

Just then, just as he was about to say something, his scouter made a noise.

He'd almost forgotten the thing was on his face - how much more of this his constitution could take, he didn't know.

**_"Attention. You are in Galactic Patrol Space...space. Um. You are in violation of several agreements between the Galactic Patrol and the, uh, Freeza...the what? You sure? Okay! The Planetary Trade Organisation. Prepare to be entered - boarded! Prepare to be boarded."_ **

Bardock was looking at him...a completely unsurprised expression.

"Oh, I forgot to say - it's nice to see you again Doc."

He threw his scouter on the floor and stomped on it.

Bardock.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating on a schedule is for people who have their lives together - sometimes I too wished we had three suns and no biological needs except for water and for the red or purple stuff to stay in our bodies.


End file.
